


Farian: A Trickster God (Book 1)

by ARatIsARavenIsARat



Category: Original Work
Genre: Angst, Angst and Tragedy, Bigotry & Prejudice, Character Death, Domestic Violence, Elves, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Eventual Happy Ending, Extremely Dubious Consent, Fantasy, Half-Elves, How Do I Tag, Hurt, Hurt No Comfort, Major Original Character(s), Multi, My First AO3 Post, Not Actually Unrequited Love, Not Beta Read, Original Character Death(s), Original Character(s), Original Universe, Originally Posted Elsewhere, POV First Person, Psychological Trauma, Racial prejudice, Smoking, Tragedy, Trauma, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, Unhealthy Relationships, Violence, Yggdrasil - Freeform, but not actually gone through with, wattpad
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-27
Updated: 2021-02-01
Packaged: 2021-03-06 19:13:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 3,554
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26134015
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ARatIsARavenIsARat/pseuds/ARatIsARavenIsARat
Summary: Yggdrasil is a half-elf who wants to run away. Can he escape?Killian is an elf who loves and is loved by her. Does he love him more?
Relationships: Original Female Character/Original Male Character, Original Female Character/Original Male Character/Original Male Character, Original Male Character/Original Male Character
Comments: 6
Kudos: 4





	1. A Train and What Was Once Home

**Author's Note:**

  * For [BorealLights](https://archiveofourown.org/users/BorealLights/gifts), [kickassfu](https://archiveofourown.org/users/kickassfu/gifts), [vindice](https://archiveofourown.org/users/vindice/gifts).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally posted at: https://my.w.tt/jzAveJtzh9

I open my eyes wearily; my mind fully awake before my body is as I blink to get my eyes to focus on the private train car around me.

"Looks like I've woken up at a..." I check my watch, "pretty reasonable time," I say to the boy who isn't there. As usual, no one responds.

I sit there quietly after no one says anything back, humming a lullaby from home.

I'm going home, and you're going to be there.

The scenery passes by my eyes, tree by tree, each one going by far too quickly to perceive. I try to track a few of them, but the train is going too fast to succeed.

My head starts to ache, looking at all that is going by, so I look around the private car. It's encased all in wood, wool, and cotton, with marble embellishments, as is regulation; not that it needs to be. It's a human-made thing, after all, and it's not like many elves get in those kinds of things. Plus, war is brewing.

Farian seems to smile upon me, though, as I start to recognise the trees and paths through them. I had slept long enough to almost get through the train ride completely.

I take my blonde hair and tie it into a short ponytail, and adjust my eye-patch so that it doesn't have any hair trapping it. A few strands of hair are pulled loose from the tight ponytail and tickle my ears; I swipe the strands behind them.

A few minutes pass and I'm home; or what I once called home, I start to realize. I no longer belong here.

With that thought, I leave the private car and step onto soil for the first time in what feels like years. I am tempted to take off my shoes, feel the dirt and grass tickle my feet. I don't do it, though. I have some manners, no matter what The One Who Isn't There says.

So, I travel forward with my human clothes and boots, steel in the toes and heel, into this place that isn't home.


	2. Malice Is So Much Easier

I pass familiar stores, people staring as I look at wares. I've been so used to glass and cement towers that downtown Lemetra seems quaint, even though it's the capital of Alfríem, the last Elven Kingdom.

Little stalls, each built without metals, selling fruits, vegetables, and hand-made wares line the marketplace. Stone and leather necklaces catch my eye, better quality than the twine ones that are so common. I move on, lacking the money to attain such beautiful pieces.

Shrines to Farian, the god of fate and destiny, are everywhere; some just as I remember them. Shrines to Gallissia, the goddess of reasoning, thought, strategy, and battle, are more apparent. Together, the shrines tell a story of coming war. It hardens my resolve to find him; The One Who Isn't There.

Distrust, though, is palpable in the air. The point of my pierced ears not dissuading the hatred of everything human. Perhaps it's the steel in my ears that makes them so upset; steel instead of coconut shell or wood that their skin can stand.

Maybe it's the fact that I look like what I am, a halfblood; what with the patch over my left eye and golden hair, my green right eye and pointed ears.

I am worse than anything human because I am the result of something unholy and unheard of, aren't I?

Enough of that.

I peruse the sets of leather boots in front of me; each much like my own, yet so very different. They weren't made by some soulless production line of robots, but a set of loving hands. Of course, they don't have the same protection of my military-grade boots, but I miss the feeling of love each pair of shoes radiated.

I move on, much to the relief of the vendor. I know that they probably wouldn't turn down a halfblood's coin, though, it would be much to their chagrin. I can see times are hard for the people here, I see the hollows of cheeks, and the spaces between ribs of those who wear non-traditional clothing. From what I can tell, almost no one would turn down my coin, even with me being what I am.

They'd still be regretful that they accepted the money, but it would feed them and their families. Something that I feel I couldn't care less for. They want me dead for what I am, so I do not care if they live or die. It's just not my problem.

I carry on, ignoring the stares; my head held high. It was worse in Elréma, the Human Kingdom, where those stares were filled with hope instead of resentment. Malice is easier to deal with when one has practice, hope is always too much to carry on your shoulders.

I stop perusing the stalls, carrying myself as a soldier, searching for what I came here for. Him, The One Who Isn't There.


	3. Love

Spidery streets that I barely remember lead me to endless dead-ends. The streets so familiar, yet unendingly foreign and unknown.

I walk down road after road, trying to follow old, confusing signs; each one faded more than the last.

Finally I arrive at the Elréman embassy, where I would be staying. It looks lonely among the old, unused embassies of the Old Elven City-States; humans having destroyed the weakest city-states in their revolution, and the rest suffering economic collapse.

I walk into the small wooden shack that is the embassy, so out of place among the grandiose buildings that make up all of the forgotten embassies.

It is a single room with a bed and a stone oven, nothing more, nothing less. It is all I needed and more, though. I had come here to find him and only for that reason.

I had come with the intention to steal away with him; him with his beautifully long, brown hair; him with his hazelnut eyes that danced with life and mirth only around me. Only around his best friend.

I came here to run away with the man I loved so dearly.


	4. Easier in the Crowds

Sleep is hard to find, yet easy to seek, on the hard cot in the corner of the embassy. It seems like I haven't slept a wink before the barn-style door rattles with the pounding of a fist.

"Ambassador Yggdrasil of Elrèma; your personal escort has arrived; as promised by His Majesty, King Selenora Ravenhurst I." Father. I wonder what he looks like, after all these years.

I rise from the mattress, stretching sore limbs. It seems I can never sleep well enough these days.

After a few moments, the door shakes fiercely once again. I shake my head and yawn before calling out to the escort.

"I am awake! Now, kindly stop your pounding." I wait a moment before getting out of bed and getting my boots on.

I walk over to the door, putting on a smile that I know looks cocky, and open the door only to have my heart drop into my stomach.

"Killian." I breathe. He seems unchanged, yet so unfamiliar. His face is set with distaste, something that makes my heart sink deeper. I didn't expect to see him so soon, I haven't prepared.

"Drasil." He greets with a sneer.

I reach out to touch his face and he slaps my hand away and moves backward, as if I have burned him even though I don't have any rings on. He scowls at me, his tanned and freckled face flush with what I can only call rage.

"Killian... I-"

"Stop. You will refer to me as Commander Jani, and that alone. My first name no longer belongs on your tongue, traitor."

"Ki-"

"Commander Jani. Now, come along. His Majesty is waiting for you, Ambassador."

"But-"

"Come along." He grits out, and it's all I can do to not reach out again and beg for- for... something. Something I can't quite grasp.

I seem to stare, hopeless and aimless, for too long because he starts to glare and grits out the same sentence, breaking me from my stupor. I nod and follow, all of my idealistic dreams of running away with this man crushed.

I study him from behind as we walk, taking in his rigid form. He is the same boy I met in my childhood, yet so vastly different.

His hair isn't in the braid of his childhood, but a long ponytail that reaches his thighs, as is the military style; his eyes now a darker shade of brown; and his body held taught, as if in the company of a known criminal.

While I may be a traitor, I'm not a criminal. Nothing I have done has been against any laws, and we both know it. He was my tutor, after all; it was him that quizzed me over laws and their history.

But he isn't my tutor anymore. He's a man now, at thirty. I am but a child who ran away from home, to him. A traitor who chose humans over him. I am worthless to him, aren't I? 

Enough.

I can become un-worthless. I can be his and he can be mine and we can run away to the far kingdoms. I can become something worthy of him. I can. I'm sure I can.

I stare at his rigid form and start to doubt.

What was I thinking coming back here? Why did I think he would still want to be by my side? After all these years of nothing; after all these years of no correspondence. Why would I think-

Enough!

I can win him back. I can convince him that I am worth his time again; I can and I will because I love him.

I come back to the real world in time to see that my fa- King Ravenhurst is looking me over, and looking, himself, resigned and drained. I have never seen him look so fragile; only having seen him in a rage after I had done something stupid as a child.

"I told you to take a seat, but you didn't hear that, did you?"

"My apologies, Your Majesty. I was in my own little world." I smile, walking toward a chair and gesturing at the seat of it when I get close enough. "May I?"

He waves a hand dismissively. "Of course. You are our guest of honour, as it were."

"Thank you, Your Maj-"

"Call me by name. You are a prince now, as well as an ambassador. You have high status, there is no need for formalities here, anyway. We are alone."

I look around the room and it appears we are. It fills me with terror left over from childhood; terror that I thought I had gotten over; terror instilled from beating after beating.

King Ravenhurst's lips twitch upward as my face pales a little, and I, just barely catch it before his face is once again a blank mask.

"But, Your-"

"Selenora. It's Selenora, young man." He tries for an endearing, charismatic smile. He misses the mark by a few kilometres.

"Alright, Selenora. I am here on behalf of Queen Victoria of Elréma to discuss a formal declaration of allegiance, as you know. Without the marriage between yourself and the late Princess Elizabeth of Elréma or the child of said marriage, the strength of the allegiance between Elréma and Alfríem is put into question-"

"Yes, I know what you are here for. I read the formal letter your aunt wrote. What does she really want?"

"It is customary for me to announce what I am here to speak of before we go into negotiations, Selenora. We wouldn't want to get off track, now would we?" I can't seem to meet his eyes, so I stare at his nose while I sweat.

"Do what you need, Ambassador."

"Thank you. Now, as I was saying, the allegiance is put into question by the fact that there are no marks of it. Queen Victoria has proposed that your son and my half-brother, Solarus, aged 19, marry your pick of her adopted children.

"We also have proposed a care package be sent to your most vulnerable citizens during this economic low."

"Are you done?"

"Yes."

"Now, what does she want from this? What does she gain?"

"I have no comment."

"Tell me, now. I'm your father, Drasil. You should be able to tell your old man anything, right?

"I have no comment."

"Shut your stupid little mouth and listen to me," Father gets up and rounds the table, he smiles a sickly sweet smile and tries again, "You tell me or you don't leave this room, Yggdrasil."

My mind blanks for a moment while I am filled with dizzying fear. I blanch, my face becoming cold and ears ringing as he gets closer.

"But that would be a press nightmare. Wouldn't it? Your aunt wouldn't miss you, but she'd take it as an opportunity to wage war, her little nephew beaten by his own father while on a trip as an ambassador." His hand snakes around my neck, just as strong as I remember it. "I could kill you now," he whispers in my ear and I act on instinct, flashing the polished iron knife that was up my sleeve and burning an imprint onto the naked hand around my neck.

My father jerks away, clutching his hand, cursing as he goes. "You little shit!" he whispers, fierce and angry. I collapse back into the chair, hoping he won't attack again; and knowing that he's baiting me, somewhere beneath the panic.

I can't breath. I try to scream, but it comes out as a hoarse whisper of a sound. My father smiles, he knows he's going to win. I have to run. I shakily get up; one hand holding the knife, one hand supporting my weight with the chair. I back away slowly as my father stands there, smirking. Once I am close to the hallway, I slowly, unwillingly put the knife back in its place. I flee quickly, running through the hallways I've always known, desperate to get out.

I run until I can't breathe and am at the embassy. My lungs burn and I shiver as I break down, dropping to the floor, silently crying. My shivering hand takes out a box of cigarettes. I put one in my mouth, light it, and sigh relief as the nicotine hits. I put the lighter back in my pocket, and breathe in the smell of cigarette smoke. It smells like the city; the city that hates me for refusing to be their angel of vengeance.

The city that was once home, just like this place. The city that believed I would help them enact revenge. The city had its fill of people who would push me and trample me until they heard who I was; of people that would curse my very existence until they heard what I was capable of. All because I was the child of one of their oppressors, a half-blood. They deem me worse than elves, just like elves deem me worse than humans. Or, they did, until they heard that I could practice magick and touch metal. Then they begged at my feet for me to kill, for me to turn against half my blood and wage war with them.

My aunt was the same way; waiting for the moment she can turn me into a weapon, waiting for the moment that she can wage war without the magick placed on humanity killing them. No human can kill an elf without dying, themself; nor an elf, a human. It is blood magick helped by the marriage of Princess Elizabeth and King Selenora.

I am, however, able to be killed by both humans and elves.

A knock at the door brings me back to reality.

The dying ashes of my cigarette lay on the stone floor, so I take out another one and light it. I take a deep breath of smoke in and then let it out before opening the door to a young woman that looks familiar.

"Hello, Ygg." Anreya. She looks different, her hair loose, lighter, and at her mid-back instead of her knees as it used to be. Her eyes have become an amber colour.

"Hello," I reply lamely.

"Aren't you going to invite me in, Ygg?"

"No. What do you want?" I am curt, thinking back on how many times she had attacked me for spending too much time with Killian, or being half-blooded.

"Can't a girl apologise to a person?"

"You don't have to come in to do that."

"Look, I'm sorry, okay? I shouldn't have beat you up just because you spent too much time with my fiancé." My mind stops working and the rest of her words are lost on me as I focus on that one word.

I snap back to reality as she asks "Are you okay?"

"Yes, fine," I respond distractedly, and I once again don't feel like my body is my own. My mouth forms words before I can tell it to stop, "So, Killian is your fiancé?"

"What?" She looks puzzled as she backtracks the conversation to where I had taken it, "Yes, he is. Is that a problem?" She looks almost like she did when she was younger, all unbridled anger around me.

I quickly step back and she seems almost regretful as I squeak "No!"

She reaches out a hand and I cringe, expecting a blow, but one never comes.

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to scare you."

'I wasn't scared,' I want to say, but it can't come out, it's stuck in my throat as I open my eyes slowly and unfurl. "It's okay," is all that comes out.

"Well, I should get going..." All I can do is look at the cigarette I had dropped on the floor as she says goodbyes that don't register.

I crush the thing under foot, close the door, and crawl into bed. Life is so much easier in the crowds.


	5. Start Again

I chain-smoke until I'm calmed down enough to stop myself, which happens in about an hour. I watch the blood red sky, shivering even though the air is humid and heavy with summer. Lemetra is close to the sea, though I've never been to the beach. It never struck me as something I wanted to do.

I always preferred the quietude of a library to anything; being left alone to read as I pleased. It was just better that way; covered by piles of books, both read and unread. It was where I belonged.

I burn myself on the cigarette that I had forgotten was still glowing in the loose grip of my fingers. It's on the dusty stone floor now, as I stare at it blankly.

"Fuck." It's said without inflection. I can't even really tell it's me. I get up and wander to the door, and then suddenly I'm outside, running. I run and run and run. Nothing crosses my mind until I come acrost a tincture shop. It draws my eyes and an idea dawns.

I walk in, taking in the smells that bathe me in the longing of childhood. It's hard not to remember him, what we did together as two young boys, what mischief we got up to.

"Hello!" calls a voice that is far too chipper to have seen their new customer.

"Hello," I say with a sort of detached fogginess, "I'm looking for Changeling Draughts?"

"Oh, how wonder-" the shop-keep catches sight of me, the abomination before them, smile turning into a frown for half a second "-ful," they cover up the reaction with their best crocodile grin. "How many?"

"As many as three packs of cigarettes can buy."

"Oh… I'm afraid we don't take cigarettes. The old man is trying to quit."

I frown slightly, the blankness of my face receding a bit into consternation, "Then use the tobacco in your tinctures," my head tips to the side, my voice flat, though lightened from what it would be if I hadn't been trying, "I know that tobacco is rare around here, and that it's sought after for its use as a spell component."

"Oh! Well, I suppose you could get… ten? How's that?" Their smile is polite, yet I know it's faked.

"I have thirty-seven point five grams of tobacco, and most tinctures require point five grams of tobacco to be at their most potent. You're underselling me."

"Fine. How about a batch of two dozen draughts?"

I thought about it for a second. "How many drops are needed for a full transformation?"

"Half a draught for half a day. Four drops per draught."

"I'll take it."

They mutter something under her breath and put her hand out for the cigarettes while another worker comes out from the back with my draughts. I pick up the bag of draughts taking one out and inspecting it as they sigh. They seem to be real, so I put the draught back into the padded bag and take the three packs of cigarettes out of my pocket, letting the shop-keep inspect the unopened packets before nodding in goodbye.

I feel lighter. I can start again.


End file.
